153 The halls emptied with special urgency as teens rushed forth into heated cars and buses to make the mad dash home before the coming storm. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment.
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